f-ck him to death
by thefudge is grumpy
Summary: AU. S3. There's only one way to kill the Original Hybrid. Yes, this is exactly what you think it is. Klonnie.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: well, this is probably the silliest premise I've ever attempted, but watch me play myself and insert this romance-parody with ALL the feelings. **watch. me**. anyway, i hope i can get away with this title? (oh yeah, i do not have the time for yet another story, like  really not, but i knew that i couldn't give up on this idea once it came to me. I owe a small debt to the classic "like the sacrificial little lamb you are" by irishcookie because it got me thinking of absurd scenarios. admittedly, this premise came to me while watching The OA, so my mental state might come into question) anyway, make sure to drop me some thoughts! _

_p.s. this is probably gonna be a 4-parts thing. we'll see._

* * *

i.

She doesn't scream. She doesn't barf. She doesn't try to pull her hair out of its roots. When the revelation comes, Bonnie Bennett is eerily quiet. There's a huge lump in her throat, so swallowing is kind of tricky. But she's not about to throw a fit. No, she just sits there on the sanded floor and _stares_. She doesn't stare at anything in particular. She's transfixed by a few dust motes which float above her head in the harsh lamplight. They cast a halo effect on the whole scene, which clashes powerfully with what she's just read in these musty tomes.

There's a knock on the door that almost sets her teeth on edge.

"Excuse me, Miss Bennett? I'm afraid I have to lock up the wing. It's past seven."

The custodian smiles kindly behind a salt-and-pepper mustache. He doesn't have a damn clue about the demons she's currently battling.

Bonnie nods her head. "Yeah, sorry, I lost track of time."

"It's no problem. Anything for Sheila's folks. She was one heck of a lady, you know. We all miss her."

The custodian launches into a story about his nephew and an ER visit that _somehow_ connects to Sheila, but Bonnie isn't listening.

The reminder that she's currently in Gran's old office makes the whole thing even more of a farce. She drove all the way to Whitmore to find answers. She thought Sheila's academic haven would provide her with elegant solutions for defeating the Original Hybrid who was ruining their lives.

Instead, _this_.

Bonnie's always been straight-laced about drinking. Ever since that Thanksgiving incident two years ago, she's sworn off wine coolers. But right now, she's sure she could drink everyone at the Grill under the floor.

She could leech off some booze from the college students on campus, but…is she that desperate?

Bonnie stares down at the innocuous paragraph circled in red which will populate her nightmares for the coming weeks. Oh yeah.

* * *

She ends up drinking some very concentrated lemon spritz on the cement terrace of a gas station. It's the kind of venue that would give her father a small heart attack. The truckers grin at her behind faux-aviator glasses. She ignores them. She feels older than seventeen and a half.

 _Okay, okay, breathe._

 _Who else can do this but you?_

She thinks about her mom. She has no idea if Abby Bennett is even _in_ the States. She hasn't tried looking for her in the past fifteen years, because well, Abby's made it clear she doesn't want to be found. It would be a bit of a shocker to track her down for this kind of proposal.

Bonnie cackles in her fist. The lemon spritz flies out of her mouth. God, her first conversation with her mom would involve R-rated magic. No, thank you.

Then there's her cousin Lucy. The only other living Bennett she knows.

Bonnie was elated to find out she's not _quite_ as alone as she previously thought. Lucy even left her contact details, urging her to keep in touch. "If you ever need anything…" she'd said. But would _this_ fall under that generous offer?

Bonnie shakes her head in sorrow. Lucy's been under enough strain working for the infamous Katherine Pierce. Pushing her on another psychotic blood-sucker would be the height of sadism.

She doesn't know why she's even _trying_. She knew, the moment she read the encrypted Latin that it would have to be her, that she _couldn't_ force this upon anyone else.

She's a Bennett witch and Klaus Mikaelson is her responsibility.

She just… _God_ , she'd never thought it would be _this_ kind of responsibility.

When Stefan and Damon had told her they'd exhausted all avenues, she'd said in a foolish bout of optimism, "Magic always finds a balance."

 _Ha. Well._

There's her balance now.

Because here's the _hilarious_ punch line; the Original Hybrid can't be killed with white-oak stakes or infernal spells. Even if they could rope Elijah and the rest of the siblings into helping her weaken him, it still wouldn't do the trick. The Hybrid can only be killed a witch, a Bennett witch to be precise. While fucking.

Sorry, she doesn't mean to sound crude, but there's no other way around it. The twenty-five Grimoires and occult volumes she consulted all broadly define it as the same thing: copulation.

Klaus Mikaelson has to be _inside_ her when she rips his heart out. It's the only way she _can_ rip his heart out and definitely kill him.

Yes, she has to fuck him to death.

* * *

On the drive home, she wonders if her grandmother knew. Well, maybe she couldn't foresee _Klaus_ in all his horrible glory, but what's that old saying about better to prevent than cure? Her Grams could've _told_ her that her vagina would one day be the ruin of monsters. It would have _at least_ given Bonnie a boost of confidence.

She almost chokes thinking about Sheila instructing her in the arts of seduction. Like some messed-up Geisha scenario.

The ancestors have always been rather prickly, but this is a new level of cruelty.

She doesn't _really_ have to do it. She could just…bury her head in the sand and pretend Klaus isn't wreaking havoc on her friends and family.

Yes, she could totally do that, haha. Her conscience wouldn't gnaw at her or anything.

 _It's just sex…_ she thinks with a shudder. Sure, she's never done it before, and given the fact that Jeremy seems to be more interest in a _ghost,_ it's not like she's going to experience it with a loved one any time soon. But how hard can it be?

Millions of women have done it with men they probably disliked. It's true, she had hoped her first time wouldn't be, well, _death_ sex. But then again, maybe her first time would have sucked anyway.

This is just a different flavor.

What makes matters worse is that she knows she's not Katherine. If she were, she'd find a way to render Klaus unconscious or subjugate him into…well, you know. But she can't _rape_ him, for God's sake. She'd be viler than him if she ever stooped to that.

No. Ugh. She has to – somehow "make it happen".

Given that Klaus hates her with the passion of a thousand suns, this should be _easy_. Ha. Ha.

* * *

Bonnie sizes herself up in the floor-length vanity. She's not looking for imperfections or trying out an outfit. She's not having a normal teenage reaction to pores or knobby knees. No, she's staring at her body like it's the first time she's seen it.

This young, pliable body will have to – _Jesus_.

She stares at her thighs in absolute horror. She wants to purchase one of those chastity belts and reinforce it with barbed wire.

She's got such a yearning to call Caroline and dish out everything. Elena would immediately tell her _no, absolutely not, you can't do this_ , _are you crazy?_ But Caroline, while voicing the same concerns, would at least get where she's coming from. Because honestly, there's no other definitive way to do this, she's checked.

It's really depressing she has no one to share this with. But on the other hand it's better this way, because Klaus has no idea he can be killed by her _hymen_. If he did, she wouldn't be breathing right now. In fact, her body would be spliced into pieces on the side of the road. She has to keep it under wraps or the whole thing falls apart.

She went to school today and got Klaus' number from Tyler. She could've swapped it from Stefan, but she wants Klaus to _know_ she asked for his number. She figured Tyler would tell him, since he seems extremely grateful to Klaus for the whole hybrid thing. Caroline told her Klaus' got him under some kind of _bond_ , so she has to take advantage of this while she can.

 _I mean, if I get this right, Tyler can be free. They all can._

So, she sits down on the bed, pulls her knees to her chest, and takes out her phone.

She's going to text him. Start a conversation. Get the ball rolling. She's doing this for the future of mankind.

The first line is crucial, though, because it sets the mood. _Ugh_ , she's talking like a goddamn scam-artist. But this is a scam, isn't it?

Okay, she has to come off as casual, but not too intimate. He might get suspicious.

She could go with a classic _Hello_ , but it somehow reminds her of that Lionel Richie song and just, no. What about a simple _Hi_? Too friendly? _Hello there_. Hmm. Too homey. _Hi there._ Too dopey.

 _This is Bonnie,_ she types, feeling like a moron. And then for good measure, she adds a _Hi_.

Her heart is thudding so loud, the neighbors could practically hear her. Will he answer? Probably not. This is Klaus. He doesn't text. He's probably busy decapitating his enemies and pillaging their widows. And why would he -

A small ping.

 _K: What is this?_

Bonnie grips the phone until her knuckles turn white. OK, kind of hostile, but it's a landline.

 _This is Bonnie Bennett_ , she types again, feeling extra-foolish.

An immediate ping. _How did you get this number?_

Bonnie chews on her lip. _Didn't Tyler tell you?_

 _K: Tell me_ _what_ _exactly?_

Look at them conversing. This _is_ conversing, isn't it? She hates herself.

 _I asked him for your number_ , she types, wondering if Sheila is watching this from The Other Side and having a spirit-stroke.

 _K: Why_

No question mark. As if he's spitting the word out. She can read between the lines. She's fluent in passive-aggression.

 _B: I wanted to talk._

 _K: What do you want, witch?_

 _Oh_ , _nothing much,_ Bonnie thinks, _just to have your dick inside me._

It sounds like a horrible porno, the kind that scars you for life. She remembers walking in on a late-night viewing of _Eyes Wide Shut_ when she was twelve. She still hasn't recovered.

But what if she just straight-up typed that? No, not the _Eyes Wide Shut_ thing. What if she wrote - she winces - _I want you inside me?_ Would Klaus show up on her porch with a wolfish grin and tell her _let's do this_?

Because she doesn't know how she'd react. She'd probably make a run for it. And never come back.

She realizes she's going to have to let him get close to her at one point. But could they possibly do it like the Orthodox Jews and find a sheet with a hole?

She doesn't know how to answer his question other than scream that she needs to fuck him. So, she deflects.

 _B: What are you doing right now?_

 _K: Are you serious_

Again, left without question mark. He's definitely grouchy.

 _B: Yes?_

 _K: None of your business._

Delightful.

 _B: I know you're trying to make more hybrids._

 _K: This better have a_ _point_ _._

He's underlined a word again. Is he ever not mad?

 _B: Is it going well?_

 _K: You don't want to try my patience._

Bonnie groans, burying her head in her pillow. How is she going to get into this asshole's pants? _Why_ does she have to do this?

"I never wanted this!" she yells at the phone.

But she calmly texts, _Sorry. I just wanted to know, because Tyler is my friend. And I want him and the others to be safe._

 _K: The witch, apologizing to me. Novel._

Bonnie gags. She wants to shove that apology up his ass. Okay, no, better not think of semi-sexual acts.

She's a bit surprised to find he's typing another reply.

 _K: What are you after? Don't take me for a fool._

Well, that didn't last long. How to backtrack?

 _B: I actually want to bury the hatchet._

She knows it sounds as fake and scripted as a line from _Real Housewives of Atlanta_ , but she's never had a talent for subtleties.

 _K: Don't make me laugh._

 _B: I'm not a comedian._

Bonnie literally cringes. Her whole body does a spasm, like a fish on dry land. _I'm not a comedian!?_ It's like she's never texted a guy before. Well, he's no guy. But still, how can she be this rusty?

 _K: I'm going to assume you're highly inebriated._

 _B: I'm not! I'm being honest. I swear._

She sounds like a desperate child. She wants to yell at him to accept her offer. She doesn't know _what_ she's offering at this point, but he better take it.

She starts typing before he has the chance to answer.

 _B: I want to have a truce._

 _K: I_ _don't_ _._

Bonnie grits her teeth. He should be so lucky to receive an olive branch from her. The bastard.

But of course, what did she expect? She certainly doesn't want a truce either, she just wants his – okay, never mind.

 _B: Why not?_

 _K: The same reason I don't take arsenic in my tea._

Bonnie rolls her eyes. It's not like arsenic would kill him, so his analogy is all wrong. But she can't afford to alienate him.

 _B: I like tea too._

Yes, it is perhaps the most embarrassing string of words she's ever had to type. And she once had to text her dad which kind of maxi-pads she preferred.

 _K: Is this your idea of a joke? Because I have killed for less._

Bonnie puffs up her cheeks in annoyance. His threats seem less sinister in text format. Still, she's getting nowhere. Why does he have to suck so much?

She tries to go for broke.

 _B: Some cause happiness wherever they go. Others whenever they go._

 _K: Are you daft?_

 _B: No. That was a joke. _

There is a full minute pause until his next reply.

 _K: Don't contact me again._

Bonnie drops her phone in frustration. Yes, he did just shut her off, but they managed to have some semblance of a dialogue. It was better than nothing.

She feels like a young man trying to woo an overbearing Southern Belle. Except this Southern Belle is an evil monster.

God. She's going to have to try again. She's going to have to see him in person too. And eventually, if the spirits are willing, she's going to have to get semi-naked and –

 _Nope_.

Bonnie stares up at the ceiling where a water-stain has swelled into a prominent bulge. Like a water balloon about to pop. Her father is gone so often, he forgets to take care of these things. And she doesn't have the heart to fix it up because it would somehow solidify the fact that she's the one in charge of the Bennett household. As always.

She's always gotta go at it alone. That's the rub.

 _Rub. Yuck._ All roads lead to Rome, or in this case, Klaus' dick.

Even during her boy-band years she had never contemplated the male body so obsessively. She's not thinking of it in terms of enjoyment – God, no – but rather in a practical, clinical way. Like, if the deed ever happens, will he be on top of her? Will she have to feel his weight? Will she have to keep her eyes open? Will he be – big? She wants the ground to swallow her.

One thing she knows for sure is that it will hurt, because it will be a miserable affair and she'll probably bleed all over the place. But needs must.

And this would definitely be the last sacrifice she'd make for the good of the world. After that, it's non-stop manicures and spring breaks.

 _Yes. I'll just fuck Klaus, kill him mid-coitus, and then I can think of_ _ **me**_ _for a change._

Bonnie laughs with tears in her eyes. This is going to be hell.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: welcome back to this ridiculous horseplay! it will probably sabotage me with feelings later on, but we're keeping it light and breezy for now, yes?_

 _but omgosh, thank you for all your positive responses, i was thrilled to find out you also like absurd scenarios! (thx to the lovely anons as well, u made me laugh!) i hope you enjoy this comedy of manners! also, the timeline on this fic is wonky at best, so just go with it! let me know if it's still funny! also holla to my sister, **Anastasia-G** , who is working hard to give us the best marrieds fic on this side of the internet so go read & review "a case of you" *finishes plug* Enjoy!_

* * *

ii.

Alaric is telling them about some minor battle of attrition that happened 20 miles away from their town. Bonnie has often complained that Mystic Falls is steeped in too much Civil War paraphernalia, and that it just gives lots of slow-minded folks the opportunity to talk about the "good old days". So she tunes out the history lesson and turns to her vampire friend with a more pressing concern.

"Caroline?"

"Mm?"

"How do you flirt?"

The bubbly blonde almost drops the pen she's been fiddling with.

" _What_?"

Bonnie winces, loath to repeat herself. "How do you, um, flirt? I mean, I think I know the basics, but –"

"Oh my God," Caroline spouts, her eyes as wide and unblinking as a pair of projectors. "The day's finally come. You're asking me for love advice."

"Let's not call it _love advice_ , jeez, I just want to –"

"You know, I was so worried you'd given up on men ever since He who shall not be named."

Bonnie heaves a sigh. "You can call him by his name."

Ever since the cheating incident, Caroline has been endearingly if not obtusely spiteful towards Elena's little brother. She glares at Jeremy in the hallway or blocks his path on the way to the gym. Bonnie's pretty sure it was also her who keyed his car. Of course, she's touched by her friend's loyalty, but she wishes Caroline would stop. This whole guerilla warfare is not helping her move on.

Caroline puckers her lips in distaste. "Well, I hope you're not asking me about flirting for _his_ sake."

"No, I'm not _that_ desperate," Bonnie murmurs, keeping an eye on Alaric who is staring in their general direction, probably eager to ask them about which one of their forefathers shot a cannon. "I'm asking for someone who isn't really into me."

"What? What _idiot_ doesn't like you?" Caroline quickly bristles. "Give me his name."

Bonnie panics. "It's not someone you know, and I want to keep it a secret for now."

"Why? Is he weird? Are you embarrassed or something? We've all had those kinds of crushes, Bon. Remember my Ricky Martin phase? _Boy_ , was I blind."

Bonnie smiles nervously. "Yeah, kind of like that." She is amused by the analogy – picturing Klaus as Ricky Martin in some tight and highly unorthodox leather outfit.

"I just don't want to advertise it for now," she continues, adopting the sad tone of voice she knows will make Caroline back off. It's the "I was cuckolded by a ghost" voice. Works every time.

"Gotcha. My lips are sealed. So what's this guy like? Does he have good hair?"

Bonnie mulls on it for a second. "No, I mean I don't know – it's curly? But not curly?"

"You like him, but you never noticed his hair?" Caroline asks, incredulous.

"I don't care about his hair," Bonnie mutters, picking up her pen and scribbling busily as Alaric passes by their desks, eyebrow raised.

" _Fiiine_. So, is he a jock, a goth, a nerd, a theater geek?"

Bonnie is stumped again. She doesn't know much about Klaus except that he's evil and enjoys killing and maiming. Hmm…he has a family, but he isn't overly fond of them. In fact, he treats them like enemies. He likes to drink blood and party with Stefan. He likes making hybrids. He likes power. Maybe he owns a yacht. Where he brings supermodels? Okay, she's starting to describe Leonardo DiCaprio.

"He's…hard to describe."

Caroline lifts a suspicious eyebrow. "Like a John Doe, or what?"

"He's older," Bonnie blurts out, as if that would somehow explain everything. It's not a lie, really.

Caroline opens her mouth in shock. "Oh – my – God –"

"Ms. Forbes, Ms. Bennett, perhaps you'd like to share some family history with us," Alaric interrupts their quintessential teenage talk, and for once, Bonnie is grateful.

* * *

"How much _older_?"

Caroline follows her like a shadow to the lockers. Bonnie is beginning to regret this whole 'ask for advice' strategy.

"Significantly," Bonnie mutters. "But not like in a creepy way."

"You mean he's already out of college?"

She realizes Caroline is getting inordinately excited. This whole thing whiffs of scandal and afterschool special and it's too much for her to resist.

"Umm, roughly."

Did Klaus ever go to college? It's likely. Even the most hopeless idiot could manage to graduate in _one thousand years_. Plus, he always talks like he's just come from a Shakespeare play, so there has to be some kind of education behind that.

"Look, are you going to help me or what? I really need some tips with this guy and I know you're the expert."

Caroline rolls her eyes, happily accepting the compliment, though she remains a little skeptical. "You've never had a thing for older guys."

"Well, since the younger ones didn't do me any good…" Bonnie trails off with meaning, and _boom_ , Caroline is once again caught off-guard by the Jeremy incident.

After all this is over and she recovers from the disappointment, Bonnie is going to have to actually thank him.

"Okay, let's reconvene at my house and we'll talk hair flips and mini-skirts."

Bonnie exhales in relief. She really needs some confidence bolstering if she's going to seduce the Original Hybrid.

"Wait. Did you say mini-skirts?"

* * *

Bonnie's never considered her legs before. It's not a topic she dwells on every day. She likes them fine and they're definitely in good shape thanks to cheer practice, but they rarely cause her to stop in the middle of the street and think about her body image.

In Caroline's borrowed mini-skirt, however, her legs become a hotly debated issue. Are they too long, too short, too bulky, too skinny? Can anyone tell she's not a very uniform shaver?

The problem is, the skirt is too _mini_ and she's not comfortable exposing so much skin. Why did she agree to this?

Oh, right, fate of mankind.

She texted Tyler earlier who confirmed Klaus was at the Grill, enjoying a drink with his hybrids. When he asked her why she wanted to know, Bonnie dodged the question by asking one of her own.

 _B: Will you be there?_

 _T: No, he sent me on an errand._

Bonnie was relieved. She didn't want her public humiliation to be public to _him_ too. A bar full of familiar patrons was enough.

So now she's making her unsteady way to the Grill, dressed like she's going to a strip club, on the off-chance that Klaus will overlook her enmity and…find her hot?

God, what a mess.

She pushes the heavy door open and glances around the poorly lit establishment for a hint of Haughty Hybrid. She's pretty wobbly on her high heels. Maybe no one will notice her limp. Maybe Klaus likes his women to be vertically challenged.

She spots him after a few more tries.

Luck's on her side. While his hybrids hold court all around him, he's sitting alone at a table with a lager. A _lager_?

That's odd, him and beer. She would've thought he was an obnoxious Cabernet kind of guy.

He looks in a _prime_ mood for flirting - that is, he's not currently murdering anyone so it'll have to do. She fiddles with the hem of her egregious mini-skirt. You know how when you're wearing a really short item, you keep pulling it down in the hopes that it will magically grow three inches? Bonnie is hoping for that same miracle.

She stumbles towards him, trying to go over her amateurish plan in her head.

Per Caroline's instructions, she's going to slide in the opposite chair and – she winces at the thought– _sweet-talk_ him really fast, thus minimizing the chances of him telling her off. At least in the first twenty seconds.

 _You've got nothing to lose. If he doesn't talk back, he's the one being rude. If he does, you have your way in_ , Caroline told her sagely.

The problem is she has really bad stage fright, and that usually results in some mishap or another. She remembers getting a minimal part in _Our Town_ back in the day and fobbing it so bad she was forbidden from re-joining the drama club.

But this isn't _just_ acting, it's a heroic sacrifice. She's good at those.

She mutters the scripted dialogue Caroline made her practice in the mirror.

 _Hey, handsome. What are you up to right now? Nothing? Okay, then how about you buy me a drink? I bet you'd like to drink **me** up, ha ha._

Obviously, this little ditty won't work like it would on a regular guy. For one thing, that last part reads too literal for comfort. But maybe he'll think it's a clever joke. Well, he didn't appreciate her joke over the phone, but that was misguided. She's wearing a mini-skirt now. It has to make a difference.

The moment is coming closer as she's nearing his table. Her lines become a kind of crazy mantra in her head.

 _Hey, handsome. What are you up to right now? Hey, handsome. What are you up to right now?_

She finds she's got a stone the size of a tractor lodged in her throat and, no matter how many times she swallows it's stubbornly trapped in her esophagus.

 _Just say it, come on. It's not that hard. Hey, handsome. Hey, handsome._

Bonnie glides in the empty seat, losing her footing halfway through. "Hey, hand job."

 _Oh, no. Oh, no._

Her lips part in a helpless gesture of horror as Klaus Mikaelson turns his full figure on her and glares down with the decibel power of a hundred suns.

" _What_ did you call me?"

Bonnie flounders like a trapeze acrobat that made a daring jump and landed on her ass. How could she mess up _one_ word?

"Sorry, I meant to say handso–"

There's no time. He has sent the small table crashing into one of the walls. Several patrons around them have risen in alarm. His hybrids are already moving towards her.

It's really _not_ what she'd hoped.

Bonnie raises her arms creating a quick shield around her. She's very tempted to attack him, but she knows this will have the effect of alienating him even further.

" _Hand job?"_ Klaus rages, almost apoplectic. "You will regret setting foot in this tavern, witch!"

Under different circumstances, this whole thing would be pretty amusing, but no one's laughing, least of all her.

"Listen, I didn't mean to say _that_!"

The hybrids have formed a threatening circle around her.

Klaus' nostrils flare. "No, I suppose you had some other profanities in mind. Your lot is all the same, an assortment of vulgar dolts who can barely spell their name properly–"

And perhaps the diatribe would go on longer, if Bonnie did not put a stop to it.

"I mean to say _HANDSOME_!" she screams, far too loud for their venue, silencing the whole audience at the Grill, Klaus included.

"I – I meant to say you're handsome," she repeats, a degree quieter, wishing she could turn into Sue Storm, the invisible Fantastic.

The Original pauses, like an angry fish caught in a net. His face could compete with Madame Tussauds' wax figures. He's somehow gone both pale and dark. He advances towards her in a strut she would classify as deadly.

"What trickery is this? Are you mocking me again?"

Bonnie lowers her hands. If she's going to embark on this fool's errand, she's going to have to lower her defenses. He won't outright _kill_ her, will he? Not like this.

She swallows. "No, I really just think you're – handsome."

Klaus stops before her, gracing her with a suspicious glower. "I thought your kind couldn't be compelled."

She smiles nervously. "Why would anyone compel me to say that?"

"Oh, I don't know," he sneers. "We're currently about to do battle and you tried to set me on fire not two months past."

Bonnie titters unconvincingly. What else did Caroline say? _When in doubt, deflect_. _Take a lock of your hair and twirl it around your finger and change the subject._

She fiddles with her hair. "Those things don't have to be mutually exclusive."

"Excuse me?" he drawls, his brow jutting forward heavily. "I should be _mollified_ you almost killed me because you find me aesthetically pleasing?"

Bonnie gulps. "I'm just paying you a compliment."

"Flattery will get you nowhere with me. You are still on my list of people whose heads I will put on a spike. And you are slowly climbing up the ranks, my dear."

 _He called me 'my dear'? That's a good thing? But – head on spike. Ouch._

She tries not to shiver. His gaze is far too earnest. _Change the subject. Change the subject._ "How about you buy me a drink?"

Klaus' eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. "You come in here, insult me, and expect libation?"

Bonnie scratches her arm. "I'm okay with a soda."

"The only drink you will get from me, witch, is valerian nectar."

"Valerian, ha ha."

"It's poisonous to witches," he elaborates, two faint red spots appearing on his cheeks.

"Yeah, I know. You're _funny_." The word makes her gag, but she plasters a big grin on her lips and sells it for her dear life. She used to be a cheerleader, after all.

"Yes…that's me, joke machine," he scowls like a royal who has been forced to converse with a peasant.

At this point, his hybrids are looking at him for guidance. They are utterly confused. As is the whole bar. Is it gonna be a fight or not?

Bonnie looks around nervously. "Maybe we should sit and talk."

"I am _not_ –"

"Please?"

Klaus couldn't give a fig about what the patrons think of him since he can compel them at the drop of a hat – and probably _has_ – but he seems like the kind of person who feeds off on dramatics. And this is highly anticlimactic.

He points to a table grudgingly. "Sit. Talk."

* * *

"How do you know valerian nectar is poisonous to witches?"

It's the first thing that comes to mind. She knows she should change the subject, as Caroline advised, but she's genuinely curious. And they've been sitting in silence for two minutes now, taking part in the world's most awkward glaring contest.

Klaus sneers. "Please, I practically patented the formula."

He notices her arched frown, and his sneer intensifies. It really _is_ a battle of who can mug better for the camera.

"Oh, don't look so saintly. You wouldn't hesitate to poison me."

"I guess not," she admits warily. Denying that would be a bit silly, given the circumstances. "But potion-making is difficult for non-magical-"

" _And_?" he cuts her short. "Are you implying I am not up to the task?"

She groans internally. Already she's managed to insult him twice in the span of minutes.

"I'm just surprised," she mutters, looking down.

"We all do our best to know our enemies, don't we? Isn't this what you're here for? It's obviously a reconnaissance mission."

"A what?"

Klaus rolls his eyes like a prima-donna. "What _do_ they teach in those schools? You're trying to find out more about me. You've come here under the guise of –" he waves his arm, "–whatever this is so you can discover ways to defeat me."

Bonnie wrings her hands in her lap. "That's _crazy_ talk. I'm just here for a drink, same as you. I saw you sitting alone and…I don't know…I thought it wouldn't hurt to say hello."

Klaus narrows his eyes. "Who put you up to this? Was it Stefan? Is he _that_ unimaginative?"

"No one put me up –"

"Oh, so it's your initiative, is it? You realized fires and torture won't work on me? So now you're attempting flattery?"

Bonnie feels a blush coming on. "I just think we should put our differences aside."

" _Why_?"

"Because it's getting us nowhere."

Klaus scoffs. "I beg to differ. I believe our grudge is quite beneficial. I've always wanted to be the one who ends the Bennett line."

"But wouldn't it be better if we were friends?" she insists desperately.

" _Friends_? Whatever for? That won't save you from certain death."

Bonnie is just about _done_ with his stupid threats.

"Ugh, no wonder you don't have any. Friends, that is."

Klaus almost issues a growl. "If this is your great strategy to befriend me –"

"It's why you make so many hybrids, isn't it? Because you're actually lonely," she rambles, unconcerned with his anger. "You're trying to _force_ people to be your friends. But here I am, offering my genuine –"

" _Nothing_ about you is genuine," he snaps, eyes turning into liquid amber. "Now unless you want to test the strength of my fangs, you will be _gone_."

If this were any other confrontation, Bonnie would throw him across the room and walk away. But it's not. It's really not.

She heaves a weary sigh and mentally runs through her seductress script. What was that line about drinks? The one too close for comfort?

"Really? I –I bet you'd like to drink _me_ up."

She can't really qualify the look on his face. It's a mixture of sea-sickness and a deep, puzzling confusion.

" _What_?"

"With – with your strong fangs," she elaborates, twirling her hair like a mad seamstress.

"You have gone barking mad."

"Or maybe you just want to taste…me," she stutters pathetically. _Why_? Why would she follow up on it? She's going to kill Caroline. She's going to invoke the spirits and kill them too.

Klaus pinches the bridge of his nose. "I rather liked it better when you were pitching fire at me."

Bonnie winces internally. Who is she kidding? She's so awful at this, she's never going to get in his pants. She'd probably barf on his briefs if she ever got that far. She might as well resign and let Klaus take over the world.

"Okay. I – I gotta go. Forget I was here."

And she gets up, failing to remember, of course, that she's wearing the world's highest heels.

 _Ha._

The floor is about to meet her face in a great game of whack-a-mole when a hand grips her waist and stops gravity from doing its worst.

Bonnie whirls in his arms, still unsteady on her feet, clinging to his shirt. She's staring up at a _very_ disgruntled Klaus.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" he asks, one arm still wrapped around her waist. But wait - this is good. He's actually _touching_ her. I mean, if she could manage to unzip his jeans, she'd have won half the battle. But she has a feeling he wouldn't be up for it. Just a feeling.

Bonnie points down to her heels. "It's these damn shoes."

Klaus surveys her whole _Pretty Woman_ get-up. "Is this ridiculously short garment for _my_ benefit?"

"No," she says too quickly, wanting to pull away from his arms but also knowing she'll probably fall on her butt if she does. He's gripping her none too kindly. More the way you'd hold a pet by the neck to teach them a lesson. She registers he smells like some spicy forest cologne, or maybe that's his natural scent? _Ew_. No, she shouldn't be focusing on scents right now.

He's getting suspicious. She has to say something.

"It's for someone else. Another guy," she adds lamely. "I have to go meet him now, actually."

She bends down, unstrapping her heels. And then she whisks off, bare-footed, across the length of the bar like a drunken fool.

She doesn't catch his look of total "what the fuck" as she storms out of the Grill.

But she has this hunch that maybe she didn't make a very good impression. Just a hunch.

* * *

"Do I still have to do this?" Bonnie whispers as she holds Miss Cuddles to her chest. Her swollen feet are soaking up in warm water.

Miss Cuddles regards her sagely. The stuffed bear must be possessed with some kind of divine wisdom, she's certain of it. She's just choosing not to impart it at the moment.

She heaves a sigh and reaches for her phone. She taps quickly, afraid she'll chicken out if she stops.

 _Enjoyed seeing you today. xx._

She waits on tenterhooks for Klaus' answer. It comes several minutes after.

 _K: What is xx?_

 _B: Nothing. Nevermind. Thank you for not letting me fall._

 _K: What a stupid thing to thank me for. I will do much worse next time._

 _B: Next time? Is that a date?_

She's really reaching here, but beggars can't be choosers.

 _K: No. It's a death threat. All of this is a death threat. I hope I made myself clear._

 _B: There's a thin line_

\- but she stops. She can't actually type "there's a thin line between love and hate" because it's so corny she might actually make Klaus happy and die.

Except, shit, _shit_ , she's hit enter. What. No.

 _K: Thin line?_

 _B: Under your eye. I noticed a thin line. A scar?_

 _K: What are you going on about?_

She's breaking a bigger sweat than when she had to take her mock-SATs.

 _B: No, you're right, it was just a shadow._

 _K: Goodbye._

 _B: See you around!_

 _K: No._

 _B: Well, inevitably around town._

 _K: I will not._

 _B: You can't not physically see me._

 _K: I will do my best. Goodbye._

Bonnie stared at Miss Cuddles, still lying quaintly in her lap. "Well, you were no help."


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: onward with Bonnie's quest to get the D! this chapter features a biiiit of violence, so watch out for that, though i suppose by now you know me well enough to expect it. thank you so much for all those hilarious reviews! i was so glad yall liked my "hand job" joke! i came up with it one night while trying to fall asleep! i was like "i gotta write this shit down, stat!" anyway, i hope you enjoy the ensuing hijinks! let me know!_

* * *

iii.

Tyler doesn't know why he's still bothering with classes. He has no interest in graduating. He's a hybrid now, he can do whatever he wants: travel, join the NFL, break into the Pentagon. The possibilities are endless. And yet there is comfort in opening your locker and staring at familiar posters of supermodels and monster trucks. It's the illusion that you can still be young and safe and untroubled.

"Is that Gisele Bundchen?"

Tyler turns around to find Bonnie Bennett propped up next to his locker, looking for all intents and purposes like she's not supposed to be there.

He nods. "Yeah, I like the classics. What's up?"

Bonnie fidgets with the clasp of her bag. "Nothing much. Just wanted to catch up. So does um… Klaus also like supermodels?"

Tyler frowns. "That's a weird thing to ask."

"Well, I figured you two would share some preferences since you're sired to him," she babbles, looking at the vinyl floor with great intensity. She's slowly running out of ideas. Combing Tyler for clues doesn't seem desperate at the moment.

"Nah, it doesn't work like that. Besides, Klaus only likes to look at women in paintings."

Bonnie is enlivened by this bit of information. "He does? What kind of paintings?"

Tyler scratches his head. He's getting antsy with the direction of this conversation. He always feels like this when his Sire is involved.

"You know…those old-looking types in the white wigs and big gowns…"

Bonnie goes slightly pale. Will she have to put on a smelly periwig and buy a freaking crinoline? Is that what it takes?

"That's pretty specific," she mutters, cradling her notebooks miserably.

"Yeah, well, he doesn't always paint them like that."

"What?"

"The women. There's variety," he says in the tone of a connoisseur.

"He _paints_?"

Bonnie can't picture him standing before a canvas with a paintbrush and an apron like some hippy art student. He's...supposed to be making heads roll, not doing their portraits.

"Oh yeah. He's pretty good, actually. Let me show you."

Tyler starts scrolling through his phone enthusiastically.

Bonnie raises an eyebrow. "He made you take photos of his paintings?" What kind of self-involved asshole does that?

He shrugs. "Nah, I'm just interested."

Bonnie feels bad she forgot that Tyler dabbles in drawing when Mystic Falls doesn't need him to be an airhead jock.

She makes a mental note to ask him more about it in the future, but right now she cranes her neck and stares at his phone.

 _Huh._

She doesn't know what to think. She's no art expert, but Klaus' paintings look strange…the colors are hysterical, the lines are shaky, and there's a lot of chaos in the middle, like she's staring at the eye of a storm. But the overall effect is not bad. It startles you a bit. Suppose this I what they call modern art.

In any case, it's definitely got something of his temper.

It's just so silly to picture him taking the day off with his oils and paints. Even hateful villains have hobbies, _gasp_.

"So…he really likes art," she concludes thoughtfully. Should she buy him a painting as a gesture of goodwill?

 _Haha, like you have the money. Besides, he can just take any painting he wants from any museum in the world._

Which makes her wonder if he has his own secret stash of original masterpieces and everyone at the Louvre is just staring at really good reproductions.

But then she gets an idea.

"Does he have any live models? You know, like a muse?"

Tyler thinks for a moment and then smiles uneasily. "Uh…some of the girls he eats end up in his paintings."

 _Ugh. Of course._

But at least she's got a sort of plan now.

* * *

Bonnie peruses the Arts section in the Mystic Falls periodical for the first time in her life. Okay, that sounds bad, but most of the people who go to art exhibits in this town are pompous old geezers. They'd probably be insulted to find a teenager in their midst. They always ask stuff like "shouldn't you be in _school_ , young lady?"

There's a small exhibit on Wednesday, to promote 'local talent'. She found out from Tyler that Klaus _might_ show up. She draws a neat red circle on her calendar, like an assassin marking her target. It's not a bad metaphor, as metaphors go. She is determined to make a connection with him. And she is _not_ going to mention any kind of 'jobs' again.

* * *

This time around, she's wearing a sensible dress that doesn't look like a prop from _Showgirls_. It's one of her favorites, an eggshell yellow with green leaves and pink flowers. Yes, it's going to be wasted on that insensitive jerk, but if she's going to kill him, she will do it right. Rudy is a little caught off-guard when he sees her clambering down the stairs at 9 pm on a school night.

Bonnie thanks all the deities in the skies above that he didn't catch her when she was doled up in Caroline's skirt.

"Hang on, young lady, where are you going dressed so formally?"

"It's hardly formal, Dad."

"You wore this when I was made Council member, if I recall."

Bonnie heaves a sigh. Her father can be really perceptive when he wants to. "There's an art thing I want to check out in town."

"An _art_ thing? Since when do you frequent those?"

"Since today. I'm broadening my horizons…for my college application."

Rudy folds his arms suspiciously. "You know…you can tell me if you're seeing a boy. I'd actually be glad –"

"Dad, oh my God, I'm not – that's embarrassing."

"I'm just saying, I don't like how that young man treated you, and I hope you're moving on from him."

Bonnie feels touched her dad even remembers Jeremy given his short attention span in such matters. Sometimes he surprises her like that.

Rudy suddenly frowns. "You're not meeting _him_ , are you? Do I need to get my shotgun?"

She snorts. "You don't own a shotgun."

"Well, it's Virginia. I'll just borrow the neighbor's."

She goes up to him and kisses him on the cheek. "Thanks, Daddy. But I'm not meeting Jeremy."

"Good," he smiles, mollified. He loves it when she calls him that.

Bonnie has to make sure he never, _ever_ finds out that his little girl is actively trying to fuck an evil vampire-werewolf to death. It would really break his heart. And she knows a shotgun is really no match for Klaus.

* * *

The front door almost swivels out of its hinges, and her worst enemy arrives on the premises.

She's never been this _happy_ to see Klaus before.

She almost pumps her fist in the air. She's been walking around this stupid gallery for _ages_ , trying to look busy and interested, and she's just about ready to shove an ice-pick in her eye.

They say everyone's a critic, but she's pretty sure even Miss Cuddles, her stuffed bear, could tell how _bad_ everything is on display. Because it's really, really bad. The night's theme - she read it on the brochure - is "Piet Mondrian", so every single artist has done some variation of colorful bright squares. Most of them look psychedelic. It's like being stuck in Pee-wee's Playhouse.

She grabs a glass of soda and tries to look presentable and eager when Klaus comes in her line of sight. She has compiled a list of facts about the art world, like auction prices at Sotheby's, Van Gogh's troubled last years, Edvard Munch's inspiration for _The Scream_. That sort of thing.

He doesn't notice her at first; he's absorbed in showing disdain for the art around him. He does a very good sneer when he wants to, and no one wrinkles his nose quite like him. Thomas de Quincey once told him he was _born_ to be a snob. But he was an opiate fool, what did he know?

Someone is waving at him, distracting him from his perfect sneering.

" _Oh_. Bloody hell."

He can't believe this.

 _Her_ again. The Bennett witch is making eyes at him from across the room. _Why_ is she still doing this? Hasn't he made himself perfectly clear already?

He studiedly ignores her, turning his back on her and engrossing himself in a ghastly painting called "The Football Game". It comprises of a bunch of deformed squares kicking a soccer ball between them.

Of course, she doesn't just take his cue and leave him alone. Oh, no.

He can hear her walking towards him. His jaw clicks angrily. He moves to another painting. This one is called "At the Pool" and the squares are all having a swim.

Bonnie trails a few feet behind him, heels clanking on the floor.

He moves on quickly to another canvas called "Thanksgiving" and… we'll let you guess what the squares are doing now.

By now, the witch is practically running after him around the gallery. People are starting to stare.

When he finally turns around – mostly because he doesn't want to turn this into a feuilleton – Bonnie Bennett almost bumps into him, but he reaches out and keeps her at arm's length. He can feel her pulse through her wrist and it's erratic to say the least. He doesn't understand why she's so bloody nervous. It's not like he's going to kill her _right now_. Though he is tempted. He stares at her with enough indignation to make even Dame Maggie Smith blush.

"Will you _stop_ this?"

"Oh…hi Klaus, it's so funny running into you here."

"Literally, it would seem," he replies, letting go of her arm.

"I didn't know you liked art," she says, sliding next to him in front of the regrettable "Thanksgiving".

Klaus regards her with annoyance. "So not only are you stalking me, but evidently, you cajoled some information out of young Lockwood too. Remind me to punish him when I see him."

"No! Please don't. I was only curious, I mean you are such an…enigma. No one knows anything about you."

Klaus makes a face. "An enigma."

"Yes, you're so dark and mysterious."

His eyes narrow. "I'm actually a natural blond."

Bonnie coughs to hide her snort. Suppose Klaus was funny for once. "I meant more like…you're a puzzle I can't solve, or a riddle I can't crack, a sphinx –"

"How many synonyms for enigma _are_ you going to find?" he drawls impatiently.

Bonnie bites her lip. He's not known for his patience, is he? She's driving to a point. "I'm just saying…there's got to be another Klaus behind the scene. The real you."

He folds his arms in contempt. "I'm afraid you'd be disappointed."

"I don't think so," she says bravely. "I'd like to um, get to know you."

"We already had this conversation. I'm not interested and what is more, I don't _believe_ you."

"Then let me prove it to you," she says meaningfully, staring into his eyes.

Klaus cocks his head to the side. This one he wants to hear. "By doing what exactly?"

Bonnie clutches the seams of her dress. She's going to hate herself for this later. "Anything you want."

Klaus can safely say he loathes the witch, but even he finds this proposition somewhat appealing. There's something to be said about having someone under your glamor. Especially since _her_ kind can't be glamored.

Oh, he knows she's got some _stupid_ heroic plan in mind and she's only playing make-believe, but if she's foolish enough to put herself in his path, he might just teach her a lesson.

"So. If I tell you to kill someone in this gallery with your bare hands, will you do it?"

Bonnie winces. She was expecting this. "I mean…the art is not very good, but I don't think they deserve to die."

Klaus smiles coolly. "You said _anything_. Is killing not part of the deal?"

"Anything except killing," she murmurs, flushing.

"Hmm. Fine then. Don't kill them. Only torture them, but keep them alive," he offers amicably.

"That's…not going to work either."

"And why not?"

Bonnie glances sideways. "I might kill them by accident. I can't always control my powers."

The hybrid is tickled by the implication of her statement. Can't control her powers? Could kill someone by accident? Why, that is positively alluring. But he doesn't let his interest show.

"You don't have to torture them with magic."

"I…um, don't really like the sight of blood."

He rolls his eyes. "Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you're a _witch_. Some spells require blood."

"I know," Bonnie shudders. "I don't enjoy them."

"Who said anything about enjoyment? You offered to do _anything_ to prove yourself."

Bonnie is starting to get a headache. "Fine! Okay, let's torture someone!"

It's for the good of humanity, she keeps telling herself.

Klaus scowls in disapproval. " _Let's_? I'm not moving a finger. You're the one doing the heavy-lifting."

"Great…"

"Try to sound more enthusiastic about it, will you?"

"So, I can pick…anyone? Anyone here?"

He nods, curious to see what exactly she will do. He's got good money on her chickening out.

 _Slap!_

His face flies backwards. For a moment, he's too shocked to react.

 _Slap!_

In comes another blow, sending his face in the opposite direction.

"Wh –"

The element of surprise is still too fresh for him to block sudden _knee to the groin_.

"Aaah!"

She knees him not once, but _twice_. Bloody hell, he's forgotten what that feels like.

Her heel stomps on his foot, almost tearing through his leather shoes.

"Argh – _you_ –"

He preemptively clutches his head, thinking that the little harpy will surely go with aneurysms next, but curiously, she stays off magic. She only keeps hitting him with her fists and knees. Like a goddamn child.

By now, a sizable audience is gawking at them, no doubt wondering if this is some kind of performance art.

Klaus is tired of this ridiculous game. He grabs the hem of her dress, yanking her forward, and before she can scream, he's got his hand around her throat, squeezing tight.

" _What_ is your problem?" he demands, teeth gnashing menacingly.

Bonnie yelps. He's almost raised her off the ground. Her shoes are barely scraping the floor. She feels like a puppet without strings.

She tries to remove the hand slowly choking her. "You – you said anyone."

Klaus' eyes drill small holes into her skull.

"I haven't been kneed in the groin since the French Revolution," he grits, bringing her face closer to his.

"Who…kneed you…during…French Revolution?" she asks, fighting for breath.

"That doesn't matter!" he snarls, feeling her delicate pulse under his thumb. And why in God's name must he now notice she has a pair of bright green eyes? They look almost unnatural, like the jade moss at the bottom of a pool.

Why isn't she trying to kill him right now? Why is she not frying his brains?

Her fingers ghost over his forearm, almost tenderly.

"Klaus…?"

He relinquishes his grip on her throat by degrees, lowering her to the floor.

Bonnie coughs and rubs at the skin of her neck, trying to soothe its irritation. Admittedly, she could have handled things better. But she panicked! She didn't want to torture anyone. It's his fault, as _always_. He won't even let her woo him!

She really, really hates him.

" _Don't_ come after me," he spits as he storms out of the gallery without a look back.

The gathering audience who has been staring in shock at the whole spectacle now approaches her warily.

An older woman puts a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I can't believe him! He doesn't want _you_ following _him_? You should press charges." Then she takes a better look at Bonnie. "Shouldn't you be in _school_ , young lady?"

* * *

Well, attempt #3 failed. But she's getting closer. She has more information on him now. She knows something he likes. And to be fair, he could've choked her way harder.

 _He could've choked me way harder…are you listening to yourself?_

She inspects the purple marks on her throat. She could get her hands on some vampire blood to make them go away faster, but…maybe that asshole would like to see his imprint on her skin. Isn't that what siring is all about?

She quickly grabs her phone and takes a photo of her bruises, making sure not to show too much cleavage.

 _Wait…why not?_

She takes a second photo and this time, she dips the camera lower until she catches the rise of her breasts above her night-gown. This is the most risqué photo she's ever taken and that includes that time in cheer camp when they took a snapshot of her wet t-shirt while she wasn't wearing a bra.

She sends him a text with the pic attached.

 _B: Look at your work._

It takes roughly ten minutes for him to finally answer.

 _K:_ _Don't._

 _B: Don't what?_

But he doesn't reply. It could be…a good thing? Maybe he's flustered? Is that possible? Has she flustered the great hybrid?

 _B: You should put me in one of your paintings._

Still nothing from him. Okay, she's going to finish off with a bold move.

 _B: Then you can stare at my bruises all day._

* * *

Klaus drops the phone from his hand and pinches the bridge of his nose.

 _Then you can stare at my bruises all day._

No, no, no. Absolutely _not_. He will not be tempted by this…this nonsense. He will not in _any_ way fantasize about something so puerile – so _obvious_ – because it's clearly a ploy – she's only a stupid little witch – barely legal anyway –

He picks up the phone to look at the photo again.


End file.
